Dust Pablo

By Nathan Payne | pablosmoglives | 20 May 2024

"Islam in man and rabies in dog are the same."
User Du2hw

Dust Muhammad was a 16th-century Persian painter who moved to San Francisco to make psychedelic Rock & Roll posters. His name means "Friend of Muhammad." The Grateful Dead wrote a song about him in 1970. You've probably heard it.

Dust Mohammed (with an "O") is a border town in eastern Iran. It exists in an uninhabitable desert wilderness that separates the San Francisco Bay Area Fallout Zone from the homosexual killing fields of Afghanistan. The town is populated entirely by acid casualties and Queers For Palestine, most of whom spontaneously imploded from the force of their own cognitive dissonance. Dust Mohammed doesn't even have a gas station. It's basically a solar-powered graveyard in the California neo-desert, and if you don't accelerate when you reach the town limits, a ghost will draw a bead on you and take you out. Legend says that Kristen Stewart hosts the open mic there, but no one has ever seen her. Or if they have, they disappeared to run sound at the open mic without a trace. But as cool and infernally idyllic as it looks in the video below, Dust Mohammed is a wasteland. Slab City is like its shiny Hollywood counterpart, a fantastical place where all the dirty people are clean, the "lesbians" are straight, the sound system is clear, the audience pays attention, and the lighting and songwriting are perfect.

This is really the only thing Kristen Stewart has ever done that I'm aware of. This, and The Runaways. Talk about promise.

Oh well.

In contrast, Dust Pablo is a beautiful city located in the heart of the Garden of Life. Its name is derived from the Farsi for "Friends of Pablo." In pre-revolutionary times, Dust Pablo was full of culture and music. Before smug, power-tripping old men used gay Palestinians to subjugate the region, there were fashion shows and singers. Urban reconstruction. Filmmakers and the vote. The White Revolution brought the Literacy Corps to Dust Pablo, which was like a battalion of teachers unleashed upon the land with a passion and a fury for the written word. Everybody learned to read, and many reforms were instituted throughout the country, for the betterment of everyone.

Then the gay, Islamic revolution hit. A bunch of dogmatic, insecure thinking-phobes flooded the streets of Dust Pablo, demanding an end to free artistic expression, individual rights, and the visibility of women. Clerics of the cult of Ayatollah Swift marched on the offices of the Dust Pablo Free Press demanding adherence to the precepts of ideological hypocrisy, tuneless idolatry, and Shee-it Islam.

They were successful. All the artists were either driven out of Dust Pablo, or imprisoned. For over 40 years, the culture of Dust Pablo has consisted of auto-tuned Illuminati pop with lyrics that would drive even the most ineloquent members of the Literacy Corps to incredulous despair, and frustrated homosexuals who commit proxy suicide by throwing other people off the rooves of tall buildings, in lieu of jumping off themselves. There are different schools of thought within the contradictory impulses of Homosexual Islam, but the Palestinian Kristen Stewart sect believes their religious duties have been fulfilled if they kill a Jewish homosexual every time they see a woman's face. Leftist lesbian Islam is a cult of hypocrisy and madness, and it has been illegal to tell the truth about anything in Dust Pablo ever since the city was conquered in 1979.

Behold the latent suicidal ideations on display.

Rest in peace, Dust Pablo. You have been missed.

But is it over, truly? Will the fashion mavens return to beautify the streets of Dust Pablo with their unnatural poses, and overpriced hotel rooms?

Does the existence of pre-revolutionary graffiti in the Old City indicate a sense of hope among the people?

I wouldn't know. But if people are shooting fireworks off the roofs of houses in Dust Pablo, if they're dancing in front of the dusty embassy when the president dies...